Bridget

You've married her, And fear to vex her and so take her part.

MAURTEEN (to FATHER HART)

It is but right that youth should side with youth; She quarrels with my wife a bit at times, And is too deep just now in the old book! But do not blame her greatly; she will grow As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree When but the moons of marriage dawn and die For half a score of times.